The cold gray steel of the axe arced one last time through the air, the pick burrowed itself one last time into the frozen blanket of snow, and the hand that held it took a final pull, to ensure a secure placement. After a brief pause, George Mallory took a deep breath, and pulled himself over the crux, and onto the top. Slowly, shakily, he stood up, and took a look around, the first time American eyes had seen the world from this vantage point. This was it. He had done it. He was the first American to ever climb Everest. The sky was a most crystalline blue, and clear too, except for the small puffy white clouds in the distant East. George had the most incredible view ever seen in all directions; he could see for hundreds, probably even a thousand miles.
             'If only others could see this!' he said to himself. If only he had brought a camera, not only would he be able to show the human race the true beauty still found in nature, he could prove that he had actually accomplished the feat. Hopefully his friends down below could see him on the top. Mallory briefly thought of waving, but the notion quickly passed when he realized the absoluteness of his fatigue. He was exhausted, plain and simple. Even after deciding against bringing a stove or any other nighttime equipment, his pack still weighed in at about 40 lbs, because of the extra oxygen bottles he picked up from a discarded pile. In fact, George just wanted to sit down. He knew though that if he did, he might never again get up. He did however remove the cumbersome pack and sling it to the icy ground.
             Digging into the main pouch, George's hand unveiled a small American flag attached to an aluminum pole. With the side of his ice axe, he pounded the pole into the crust, forever designating that he had soloed the highest mountain on the planet. This task had taken nearly ten minutes, since every swing of the makeshift hammer was like wielding
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